Dear HJ, on your 5th birthday

Dear HJ,

Today you are 5 years old.

It was late in the evening on a humid August night when we first heard about you, our baby girl. You were two months old. Your father and I had just returned from an exhilarating trip to the border of North Korea and China, where we had spent two weeks meeting North Korean refugees and orphans face to face, seeing with our own eyes a world which had previously only been told to us in stories. I was on the phone with my mother, the grandmother you now know as Nee.

"There’s a baby girl at your grandfather's orphanage,” my mother said. “Do you know someone who would want to adopt her?"

When my mother said those words, “There’s a baby girl…” it was as if the skies had opened, and God had dropped you directly into our laps.

I had called my mother that night with just one purpose. I wanted to know if she could help us with the process of adopting a baby. You see, Hyun Jung, your daddy and I, we had always wanted to adopt. Not only because it seemed like it was in our blood, with my grandfather running an orphanage in Nonsan, South Korea, and my uncle on the other side of the family having started an orphanage in Seoul, but because something inside of us seemed to know about you long before you were born, and maybe long before we were even born. But it was only after our trip overseas that summer of 2008, that we thought it was time to take the first real step towards adoption. And of course, it could not have been any other way, for the summer of 2008 was the summer you were born.

There are certain decisions in life that you feel all your days have been leading up to, moments that some may call fate, or God's will, or sheer and amazing coincidence. That day that we found about you, Hyun Jung, was one of our moments. For before I even had a chance to ask my mother the question that had been running through my mind all day like the pounding of a relentless summer storm, “Can you help us adopt?” she had beat me to it.

“There’s a baby girl,” she had said.

When I heard those words spoken to me, I was sitting in complete darkness in the corner of our bedroom closet, and heavy, fat tears began falling from my eyes, tears not of sadness, but of absolute certainty that you were our daughter.

I repeated the question to my mother in hushed tones. “Do I know someone who would like to adopt? Do I know someone?”

I told her, “Yes, I do. I know someone who would like to adopt.”

After hanging up the phone, I emerged from the closet with tears still in my eyes and told your daddy we were going to Korea.

The first day we met you was the day after Thanksgiving. You were just about to turn five months old. We were coming straight from a 15 hour flight, a sleepless night at the airport hotel, and a 2.5 hour bus ride to the orphanage. It was late morning, and there was a clear, quiet stillness in the air when we climbed the steps to the newly constructed brick building where you had been growing up without us -- we were strangers to you, but to us you were a dream and a life that we had been waiting for our entire lives. The heavy double doors swung open, and suddenly there you were, little arms flailing about in a red and white cotton outfit that was too big for you, your round eyes, bright and curious, and what little hair you had pulled back with a tiny plastic barrette. I instinctively reached out my arms to you, wanting to swoop you up right then and there, but I held back, seeing you snuggled so protectively in your caregiver's arms.

"Hyun Jung," I said tentatively, "We're here."

It seemed that you smiled back, a little smile without any recognition of who we were, but a smile, nonetheless. There really wasn't much you had to do to win my heart that day. From the day I had heard about you, I was already yours.

Later that night, we watched you from afar, as your caregiver wrapped you up as tightly as possible on her back in a soft, yellow baby blanket, singing Korean lullabies to you as she walked up and down the stairs to put you to sleep. She held you close every night that first year of your life, and she would have raised you as her own if she was not already 60 years old and had destiny not brought you to us. The building where you were staying with her had been conceived as a new enterprise of my grandfather’s, a home for elderly Korean men and women who had no place to live and no family to take care of them. Although the orphanage dormitories next door housed over 80 children from ages 3 to 17, this new building where you were living housed no one at the time except you, your caregiver, and my grandmother. It was as if the entire building had been created for you. There were no other babies at the orphanage. Only you. So much time had passed since the orphanage had had a newborn baby that they could not remember how many years it had been. A crib had to be purchased, and sat unused in the corner, while you slept soundly on your caregiver’s bed, and she slept on the floor, to make sure you didn’t fall.

The orphanage, Eden Children’s Home, was founded by your great-grandfather after the Korean War, to take in Korean orphans, many of whom had lost their parents in the escape from the North to the South. My grandmother tells me often of the story of their own escape. How she had two sons, one sick with polio, and how she had been pregnant with my mother, riding a train to Seoul while her husband went ahead to secure a safe place for them all. She never fails to tell me how they almost didn't make it, and then where would all our lives be?

To such grandparents who had survived the war, nothing was impossible. Perhaps that is why your great-grandfather did not think twice about all that would have to be overcome to adopt you into our family. Many people, important people, told us it couldn't be done.

“I'm sorry. A child that is already in an orphanage cannot be adopted,” they told us.

“I’m sorry. I understand that you and your husband are of Korean descent, but that has no bearing on our decision.”

“I’m sorry, I understand that your grandfather is 83 years old and has been running the orphanage for over 50 years, but, a child in an orphanage cannot be adopted internationally.”

"The birth mother must have legally relinquished her rights."

There is not much that we know about your birth mom, but this much we do know. She loved you very much. We know her name and her age when she gave birth to you. And soon we discovered, through your grandfather’s persistence, that she had indeed gone to the adoption agency before you were born to fill out the necessary paperwork to begin the adoption process. She had gone to the very adoption agency in Korea that was linked to the one adoption agency that was willing to work with us in America.

So we went, on that day after Thanksgiving, to meet you for the first time, our baby girl. I didn’t know what was worse, waiting for you on the other side of the world, or knowing what it felt like to hold you in my arms, and then having to let you go. The adoption process between two governments an ocean apart in geography and culture could sometimes be fickle, and we didn't want there to be any doubt that every precaution and law had been followed and respected. So we continued to wait. Every moment we spent with you during that first visit kept us going through the long winter months when we were apart.

In the spring, when the cherry blossoms began blooming, their white petals softly raining down on the gravel in the courtyard of the orphanage, I went again to see you. I could not bear to be away from you another day. You were 9 months old. You were starting to pull yourself up to stand, you were laughing, you had four little teeth, your hair had grown just a tad longer, and you still liked being held facing out, so you could see the world all around you. You didn't say much, but you made your desires clearly known, pointing a chubby, stiff arm in whatever direction you wanted to be taken. As much as I wanted to tuck you on my hip and walk right into Incheon Airport with you, it was just another visit, and we had to wait, again.

And really, we were still getting to know each other. You let me give you a bottle in the middle of the night, and you ventured to lay your head on my shoulder while I rocked you back and forth. You let me dress you in a green flowered dress on Easter morning, and take picture after picture with you in front of the deep-rooted mok ryun tree that is your great-grandfather’s pride, but at the end of the week, I had to go home, again, without you. Before I left for the airport, I placed you gingerly on top of my suitcase and wheeled you around the entryway of the orphanage building where I had first met you, and you looked up at me with an uncertain little smile, still wondering who we were to each other.

At last, in the humid, oppressive heat of a rainy, Korean summer, I arrived at the orphanage a final time - to bring you home. They moved us into a small blue house in the back of the orphanage. In the past, it had served as a bath house for the other children, and now it was to be our makeshift home. The old linoleum floors were soon covered with your baby toys and blankets, and they brought us a brand-new washing machine with fancy buttons and Korean words that I didn’t know how to read. They didn’t believe in using dryers much at the orphanage. They told me it was better to let the clothes breathe in the fresh air, so I did my best to hang your little Korean dresses on a clothesline outside our doorway, though it hung in the shadow of the girls’ dormitory next door. I learned how to heat the water before bathing you, and at night we watched Korean dramas on TV before you fell asleep in my arms. I fed you rice and seaweed soup, your favorite, at every meal, but when I gave you eggs and toast for breakfast I was scolded for not giving you something more substantial. The orphanage cook would then proceed to fry you a small fish, mackerel, and I would pick out all the bones with slippery metal chopsticks and feed you the morsels with my fingers.

Through all of this, your daddy was still waiting in the U.S, now for both of us to come home. No one knew how long it would be before the final visas were approved.

I forged ahead anyway, putting you in a rickety borrowed stroller, pushing you over the uneven concrete sidewalks and the busy streets of Nonsan, walking with you to a little bakery one day, another day taking you to visit a friend and her baby who lived in the apartment across the street. We walked beyond the gates of the orphanage as often as possible. We took you to a bustling strawberry festival, to city gardens, and rural mountainsides, all the while still waiting for the final call that we were free to go.

The hottest day of the summer, the last day of August, as was the tradition in Korea, we took you to a village restaurant to have freshly cooked chicken soup, served bubbling hot in earthenware bowls. We sat on the floor, as is the custom there, and I tried my best to protect your little hands from the boiling soup and the rows and rows of tiny side dishes, laid out temptingly for you to touch.

When the heat had finally abated, and the children at the orphanage were back in school, and the relief of an autumn breeze was slowly settling in, your daddy decided that he missed us too much not to visit one more time. He came on Labor Day weekend, and everyone remarked again at how much you looked like him, both of you with your dark, long-lashed eyes and oval faces. You even suffered alike from eczema due to the sweltering heat. But to you, he was still a stranger from America, and you only stopped crying when he tickled you and threw you up in the air and made you breathless with laughter in that way that only daddies can do. The day he left was another bittersweet goodbye; I so longed to just walk onto the plane with you and him, together as it should have been all along.

But this time, we didn’t have to wait much longer. Only ten days after your daddy had left, we finally received the news. The visa had been approved! We were free to go home. As soon as I heard, I scooped you up and danced around the back room where we had been biding our time, your hand enclosed in mine. Your daddy came back the very next day. All at once, what had seemed like an endless wait was over almost too quickly. Our goodbyes to everyone at the orphanage were short and fleeting, unable to express the significance of all that you were leaving behind, and both the gratitude and relief we felt at finally being able to take you with us this time.

I hardly slept the night before we were to leave the orphanage. Mercifully unaware of how much would change the next morning, you slept peacefully. The day was September 21st, 2009. You were 14 months old. In the early dawn hours, we packed your precious memories of the first year of your life, the well-worn clothes you could still fit into, the Korean pacifiers and bottles and rice cakes that you would miss otherwise, and the heavy, leather-bound dol album, the photos from your first birthday, which we had missed, but your great-grandfather had taken care to preserve in painstakingly arranged professional photos of you crying in your beautiful Korean hanbok.

We piled all our belongings into the orphanage's white van, the one that had driven us countless times to the bus terminal and back, but this time, we were leaving without knowing when any of us would be back. There wasn't even a car seat for you, things are different there in Korea, so I held you extra close in my lap as you placed your little hand on the window while the crowd gathered in the courtyard.

"Bring her back when she's a little grade-school girl, before she forgets all her Korean," my grandfather told us.

“Will she only eat pizza and hamburgers in America?” the other children asked.

Your caregiver was too emotional to come outside to see you go. She had already said her goodbyes to you the night before, giving you a children's Bible written in Korean and English, a navy blue satin book bag to use when you started school, and two long Korean nightgowns in the softest cotton that you still like to wear. My grandfather gave you two tiny gold rings and a gold bracelet, so delicate that they bend at the slightest touch. The workers tried hard to be cheerful, and the other children smiled and waved, but there was a heaviness that lingered because you were so loved. You were the youngest, and the favorite, no one could deny.

And this time, we really did walk with you straight into Incheon Airport. I still couldn’t help looking over my shoulder to see if someone would stop to interrogate us, as if to say, "Where are you taking her? And is she really yours?" No one gave us a second glance, but I held the thick manila envelope of paperwork from the adoption agency as though it were a shield. I suppose we looked no different than the hundreds of other Korean families wandering around at their respective gates, waiting not quite patiently for their boarding call.

Well, I take that back. You stood out a little, Hyun Jung, the way you liked to be held with your hands on the handle of our big luggage cart, directing it back and forth, and angling your body in just the right way so that you could see everything and everyone around you as you began this long journey home.

15 hours later, we arrived in Chicago, received by balloons and welcome signs, and a whole other world eager to meet you. You had been an angel on the flight. Sleeping eight hours straight in the bassinet in which you barely fit, and quietly eating your favorite rice cakes and drinking your sweet Korean formula in your familiar Korean bottles. We brought you straight home, and I snuggled in next to you in your new big girl bed in the room that we had painted a pale green, with the sheer butterfly curtains hanging from the windows. Exhausted as we were, this time, neither of us could sleep. Whether it was jet lag or the anticipation of beginning the rest of our lives together, or both, no one knew. How long had we been waiting for this moment? And now, you were finally here.

Epilogue:

Hyun Jung, when you first came home, we called you Hyunnie. Now, you always remind us that you like to be called Chloe, your American name that you use in school. It’s a fitting name, meaning verdant and blooming, as is your middle name, Eden, meaning delight. Your favorite part of the day is when your daddy comes home and kisses you and lifts you high in the air. You sometimes like to boss your little sister around. And thanks to the instruction of your Nee and Ha-ji, your grandfather here in America, you haven’t forgotten all your Korean.

The second time around...

So HJ's summer has been relatively smooth so far, except for the fact that her little sis Lila has officially entered her terrible two's. It was as if a few weeks ago, someone switched our easy, mild-mannered baby and replaced her with a crazy toddler complete with ear-piercing screams, tantrums, food-throwing, pushing, and general crabbiness.

And in the midst of it all, I've realized that HJ looks like a mature, well-behaved grown-up girl in comparison, and that the second time around, it's really not so bad.

When HJ was two, the constant tantrums and refusal to go to bed, the throwing food from the high chair, the resistance to the car seat, all were cause for constant anxiety and even a few sessions with a behavior therapist.

This time around, Sol and I look at each other, and sometimes we just have to laugh. 

Granted, things were different with HJ -- the tantrums were more intense, she couldn't express herself verbally, and we were completely novice parents who had no idea what we were doing. But going through it with Lila all over again makes me realize there's probably no need to freak out. HJ went through it all and worse, and we all survived.

Even Grandma from Korea has been remarking how HJ eats so well, sleeps well, and takes good care of her little sister, whereas with Lila, she tends to say things like, "Wow, this girl is never going to take no for an answer... She really isn't going to give up on anything when she gets older.." I have to smile because those are the very things I'm so used to hearing about our first spirited child, HJ.

But with the two-year old stage, also come all the cute and funny things that make this stage one of our favorites as well. Here are a few Lila-isms that I've noted lately that have made us all laugh...

• Replacing "horn" in her favorite song with her favorite food "corn" as in "The corn on the bus goes beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep...."
• Calling mommy's yoga mat "a yogurt mat" which again references another favorite food... I think I'm seeing a pattern here!
• Telling mommy she is riding in her "red dragon" (aka "red wagon")
• Making binoculars with her tiny chubby hands whenever she thinks she needs to see something far away
• Asking for "shaving cream" for her strawberries (aka "whipped cream")
• Getting panicked because "Grandma eating my blueberry!" when we just bought a giant container from Costco
• Learning the words "colonoscopy" and "Dr. Petrungaro" after accompanying Grandpa to a few too many doctor's appointments

And after every little or big tantrum that Lila has, one thing I love seeing is how HJ does her best to make her little sis feel better, even if sometimes she's the cause of the tantrum, and even if her answer is to give her candy or chocolate to make it all better. I'm sure it's complicated for HJ now, still wanting things for herself, but not wanting Lila to be sad. She's learning, though! After Lila calms down after a big tantrum, HJ likes to say, "Are you ok, Lila (or Ya-ya as it sounds like when HJ says it)... Are you happy now?" And thankfully, Lila's answer is usually yes, even if it's only until the next crisis hits...

Moving on up

Sometimes Sol and I take a long time to realize that our little girl is growing up... Last weekend we finally changed HJ from her carseat to a big girl booster seat. Now I know she's almost 5, but we didn't realize until recently that her head was sticking out over the top of her carseat and that it really was time to move her up!

One of the problems was that we had a hand-me-down booster seat that HJ had been refusing to sit in for some time. Then Sol came up with the ingenious (and simple) solution to take HJ to Babies R' Us to pick out her own carseat. Problem solved.

HJ picked out a gray booster seat with purple and pink flowers, obviously, and that very day she was happily sitting in her new booster. With no complaints at all. In fact, the next morning , she even wanted to drive to our music class which is just down the block, just so she could sit in her new booster.

Now there were a few lessons that I learned from this little transition. HJ likes to have some measure of control and choice, no surprise there. And she is actually ok with some change, as long as she feels she is ready for it and it is introduced with a little creativity.

I'm hoping this is a little preview of what will happen in August, when yes, HJ will be entering full-day kindergarten.

We had our official transition meeting last week, and it was decided that HJ will definitely be moving on up to kindergarten in the fall. I had mentally prepared myself for this decision, so this meeting wasn't as difficult as I expected, but I still had a few moments where I got teary. Whenever the teachers or therapists mention how far she's come from when she first started preschool, I always get choked up. Lately HJ has even been asking to go on the school bus with all her friends. I'm not sure if she fully understands that when she goes on the bus, Mommy and Lila can't go with her, but at least she's entertaining the thought this year!

If the day ever comes where HJ gets on the school bus with her lunch bag and backpack and waves goodbye, I will be completely and utterly shocked, but we'll see what happens. I'm having flashbacks from last summer where the bus driver would wait patiently at our driveway every morning and I would have to run out and tell him, "Sorry, not today."

Going on the school bus, eating lunch in the cafeteria, starting kindergarten, they all seem like such minor things relatively. Still, I don't know why, but for HJ, and probably more for me, they also seem like these giant momentous steps towards growing up and becoming an independent little person, no longer hanging out at home with Mommy all day, or at least in the mornings, but being in school all day, by herself. I know she can do it, though. We just have to think of ways to prepare her and get her excited about the idea. It's a good thing we have all summer to do that....

If you're happy and you know it

With summer coming up HJ has generally been pretty happy, soaking up the sunny days and the time running around outdoors with her friends. I have to say, this is one girl who thrives on being outside. Sometimes I think we just need to move somewhere where she can enjoy the sunshine and fresh air all year long.

The upcoming summer also means some transitions for HJ, which can be good and bad. The good includes less stress about getting to school every day and more time to stay with mommy and Lila. The bad includes potentially hectic days without a set routine, and new possibly anxiety-producing situations such as our big vacation to California at the end of June. Yes, HJ has already been reminding us that she does not want to ride on any planes (guess she does not remember that 15 hour trip from Korea when she was a baby, or maybe she does...) and repeated requests that she does not want to go to Legoland, go to the big swimming pool, or have a big birthday party. As you can see, HJ is definitely not your typical 4 year old...

Yet despite her worries, HJ has also been excitedly talking about when she can have her friends over to swim in the princess pool in the backyard and when she can do a "family" birthday. So it's not that she doesn't want to do the typical kid things, she just wants to do them in her own way, HJ style.

It definitely takes HJ a while to warm up to new situations.. A while as in, I just realized she pretty much never mentions her fear of elevators and highways anymore, and like any other little kid, is now racing to the elevator to see if she can push the button first. But really, it probably took close to a year before she got to this point. Her latest anxieties include a fear of riding on amusement park rides, or even letting Lila ride on one, even non-threatening ones such as merry-go-rounds, so we will see how long it takes HJ to get over that one... I'm just hoping she'll warm up to the idea before we take that trip to Legoland.

I'm hoping this summer will be less stressful that last year's ... I've learned my lessons about cutting back on the activities and we've got no huge birthday parties planned this year, so that should definitely help some. Just need to brainstorm some ideas about how to prep HJ for our vacation, and we should be good...

Sweet moments

Sol's been working late these past few nights, which means the crazy hours between 3 pm and whenever he gets home (post-school and pre-bedtime) have been a bit crazier than usual without his extra help. That said, somehow, miraculously, the kids have been pretty well-behaved this whole week.

Well, there was that one evening, around 630 p.m., when the kids still hadn't eaten dinner, and I was sitting with Lila in the living room (who looked like she was about to fall asleep) when I realized that HJ was being unusually quiet. As a mom, you know that means something's going on.

I casually asked HJ what she was doing. "Eating chocolate bread," she replied.

That "chocolate bread" was the freshly baked batch of fudge brownies we had made, which I had told her we were saving for dessert, but which had obviously proved to be too tempting for HJ.

"I only ate the edges," she added, only a little guiltily.

Then, while I was in the kitchen, assessing just how many "edges" she had eaten, and pouring her a glass of milk, I realized that now there strangely wasn't a peep coming from the living room. I returned to Lila to see her sitting on the couch stuffing her cute little face with a bag of swedish fish she had found. As soon as she saw me and my shocked expression, she spit out the candy and said, "This Mommy's? This Mommy's candy?"

I just had to laugh, because first of all, I realized my kids were starving and I should just feed them dinner before Sol came home, and secondly, I realized I was really going to miss these moments.

With Lila turning two and HJ starting kindergarten in the fall, I know that these times aren't going to last forever. And for all the moments I've thought about the "freedom" I'll have when HJ is in school all day, I'm getting a little teary thinking that maybe I've forgotten to appreciate these days of chasing the kids around and seeing the look in their eyes when I catch them with smears of chocolate on their cheeks and guilty smiles on their lips.

With Lila being the youngest and growing up way too fast, I'm doing my best to try to slow down and enjoy the little moments with her. I'm sad some of those moments have already passed me by with HJ, but when things get crazy these next few months, and I know they will, with Sol working late nights, and HJ being out of school for the summer, I'm going to remind myself to just laugh, and enjoy them, before I close my eyes and wake up and suddenly they're teenagers telling me they don't want their mom hanging around anymore.

For now, I'm thankful that they're still little enough for me to scoop them up and smother them with kisses. Although when I do this to Lila these days, I've noticed she's starting to squeal and say, "No!!! Too much, Mommy!! Too much!" It's already starting, the inevitable growing up and away, and as much as I want them to be independent, now that it's actually happening, I'm sad! Please, Sol, remind me of this next time I wake up in the middle of the night and find myself sandwiched between both our girls.

Maybe I've forgotten...

It seems I've forgotten in the past few weeks that HJ is a child with special needs. How can that be, you may be wondering, since it seems that everything I write about on this blog is related to the unique and "quirky" things that HJ does and says... I guess it's not that I've really forgotten, but maybe I've just started hoping that those special needs have lessened or even gone away in some ways. Which now that I think about it, is really as ridiculous as it sounds.

On one level, I know that I'm constantly thinking about HJ going to the full-day special ed kindergarten in the fall, and I know that we just came out of an IEP meeting where we discussed her apraxia and her low muscle tone, and her social-emotional issues, but for some reason, I think I buried that all underneath the idea that she has made a lot of progress.

But really, it's only taken a couple weeks of setbacks for me to realize that things are not always as rosy as I'd like to believe.

We had quite a few meltdowns in the past week.It all culminated with a small group meeting at our house where HJ had several meltdowns related to other children playing with her toys, the house not being "in order" anymore, too much stimulation, and general anxiety and inability to regulate her emotions.

It made me realize that in a sense, she's not just going through a stage where she has to learn how to share, but it's a serious anxiety and fear that she has about situations that are unfamiliar and things that are out of her control. In a word, it's debilitating.

But in a strange way, this also makes me less discouraged. It kind of resets my expectations for her, and softens my heart to what she is going through internally. It makes me have compassion instead of only frustration and anger. And it makes me rethink once again, our daily schedule, and the activities and commitments in our lives.

If she was physically disabled, I wouldn't so conveniently forget and wonder why she can't run or jump or do things that other "normal" kids can. But, I would still want her to be able to experience and enjoy everything as much as possible, just with the right assistance.

With this whole anxiety and sensory processing disorder, though, it's just not as clear-cut for me. How do I make accommodations for her, without making excuses? How do I know what is due to environment and over stimulation, and what is due to bad behavior? Most of the time, it's just really confusing. Sometimes I start to wonder, maybe she needs even more help that we're giving her. Does she really need meds, or more frequent therapy, or more testing to see what other diagnosis we might be missing?

On the other hand, although I know that we cannot have our lives revolve around HJ's issues, I realize that life is just better for all of us when we make even the simplest accommodations for her. For example, after the meltdown debacles we had through the week, we had a relatively quiet and stress-free weekend. And not surprisingly, HJ did great at Sunday school, slept well, ate well, and was ready to go to school on Monday.

A happy moment from the past month (visiting Daddy at work)

It's time for me to remember this, and accept it, and not just wish that HJ didn't have these issues. It's time for me to admit to God again, that I really, really cannot do this parenting thing without His help and strength every single day. So please help me, God, be a better mother to HJ and love her unconditionally as You love us all the time.

Simple Revelations

So today was finally our back to normal day. The hectic activity and fun of spring break had come to an end and we were back to our daily routine.  And although it happens after the conclusion of every weekend, holiday, special occasion, or vacation, I'm still surprised each time by how much HJ thrives when she knows what to expect and she feels secure and comfortable once again.

She had a good day today. She woke up happy, after a relatively good night's sleep, and she did her best to be nice to Lila pretty much all day. There were a few tears, a few would-be tantrums, and a little bit of "I don't want to go to school, Mommy!" -- but it was soon overcome by reminders of seeing "all her friends" and her favorite teachers Mrs. G and Mrs. S.

She was actually doing so well this morning that she was happy and willing to go to what Sol and I have been calling the "play place" aka child care center at the gym, and actually ok with Mommy going to exercise while she stayed with the new teachers and Lila.

It seemed like every other stay-at-home mom and their toddlers and young kids had the same idea after spring break, because there had to have been close to 30 kids running around in the child care center. Honestly, I was panicking when I saw how many kids there were, knowing that the potential for conflicts, meltdowns, and over stimulation would only be heightened with that many kids. Plus, it was HJ and Lila's first time being dropped off there, and as I clearly remember, though wish I could forget, one bad experience like we had at the Y last year, could easily mean the end of ever going to the child care center again for HJ...

Thankfully, all went well to my amazement. I kept waiting to hear them calling my name over the speakers... And I couldn't really concentrate on the treadmill as I kept picturing various scenarios of how it could all go so badly with that many kids and HJ in an unfamiliar place. But my worry, at least for today, was unfounded, and when I went to pick them up an hour later, HJ proudly told me how she "took care of Lila," and kept Lila's Minnie mouse thermos safe from all the little boys trying to take it away. It figures. That shouldn't surprise me either. When HJ has a job to do, like protecting her little sister, nothing is going to stop her from getting it done!

I was really proud of HJ today. The other night I was telling Sol how I just wished we could make it through a day without any tantrums. And he reminded me that although I may not be able to control how HJ reacts in every situation, (and believe me, there's sometimes nothing I want more than to minimize every possible scenario for a tantrum!) I can always control how I will respond to those tantrums. I mean, it's so obvious, right? But for me, it was good to hear that. It made me feel at peace... Knowing that no matter how rough of a day HJ has, I can still choose to respond with love, with God's help of course... It's not always going to be easy, but I was trying my best today not to yell, lose my temper, or get agitated with every little crisis that was about to erupt during the day... And it gives me hope... Hopefully things are looking up again for us. It's been a long, long winter...

HJ was all smiles after school today, talking about their new unit on flowers and springtime. She's also been asking Sol about planting flowers in the garden and setting up the princess pool in the backyard... This girl is definitely ready for a new season...And so am I...